An Orphan’s Wish: The new, most heartwarming of christmas novels you will read in 2018. Molly Green

could get. She shook the woman’s shoulder.

      ‘Janice! Wake up! There’s a fire at the orphanage. I’ve just seen the fire engines.’

      The sleeping figure moved a fraction.

      ‘Janice! There’s a fire at Bingham Hall.’

      ‘What? What are you …?’ Janice sat up, her eyes wide.

      ‘I’m going to see if I can help. Will you come with me?’

      ‘You’re ready. You go and I’ll follow.’

      Lana ran, her long legs flying as she drew level with others who must have heard the alarm. A dull pain already throbbed in her side. By the time she reached the drive of Bingham Hall she had to stop and catch her breath or she’d never make it up the slope. She looked towards the house and saw flames shooting into the night sky.

      But there’d been no siren. No explosion. No bomb. She was sure she’d have heard it if there had.

      Eyes watering from the smoke already wafting towards her, Lana hurried up the hill to where a crowd of people and children had already gathered, their faces lifted towards the sky, which was an eerie red. She was near enough now to hear the snapping and cracking of the blaze. Children screamed and cried over shouting adults. Her eyes began to sting badly and her nose filled with smoke. Firemen were pointing their hoses onto the east side of the building where the flames had taken hold, the water pouring in jets onto the building.

      She spotted a woman who was urging a group of youngsters further away. Lana stumbled towards her in the dark, and tapped her on the shoulder. The woman whirled round and Lana saw it was the teacher she’d spoken to at the May Day event.

      ‘What a disaster.’ Dolores Honeywell’s face was blotchy and her eyes were running from the smoke.

      ‘What can I do?’

      ‘Keep an eye on these kids while I try to find out if the children are all here.’

      Before Lana could answer, Dolores had rushed towards the group of firemen.

      ‘Do you know if everyone’s out of the building?’ Lana asked an older boy.

      ‘No telling,’ he answered, his streaming eyes fixed on Bingham Hall.

      She couldn’t blame him. He was watching his home go up in smoke.

      ‘What’s your name?’

      He turned. ‘Alan.’

      ‘Alan, can I trust you to keep these boys in check? I’m the new headmistress at the village school.’

      The boy nodded.

      The boys, eight of them, she counted, were all talking and pointing. One was crying.

      ‘Alan’s going to look after you for a few minutes,’ she told them. ‘Please wait here with him until I or one of the other grown-ups come back. Do not leave this spot. You’ll be in the way of the firemen who are trying to do their job.’ She gave as stern a look as she dared without frightening them any further. ‘Do you understand?’

      ‘Yes, Miss,’ they chorused.

      The little boy who was crying stopped and looked at her with fearful eyes.

      These innocent children. As if the war and bombing wasn’t bad enough. She put her arm around him.

      ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Alan is here to look after you.’ The others began talking and she stopped them with her hand in the air. ‘And if Alan tells you to move somewhere else for safety, you are to obey him. Is that clear?’

      They nodded. She could only pray that Alan would keep them in order as she made her way, running and stumbling over the uneven grass towards Bingham Hall.

      She had to speak to one of the firemen. Find out what was happening. If anyone … Dear God, don’t let there be anyone still trapped.

      ‘Excuse me,’ she said to the nearest fireman who was concentrating on pointing his hose on another fire that had taken hold in a different spot.

      ‘Stand back, Miss.’

      ‘Is anyone still in the building?’

      ‘We don’t know. One of our chaps has gone in. The matron’s trying to get all the names.’

      He jerked his head over his right shoulder and she saw a tallish woman with a large group of children around her.

      Lana sped over in the direction the fireman pointed.

      ‘Mrs Taylor … Matron,’ she called in the distance between them.

      The woman glanced in her direction.

      ‘I’m Lana Ashwin from the school,’ Lana breathed harshly as she rushed up. The matron nodded as though in a trance. ‘Can I do anything? Is everyone safe?’

      Maxine Taylor’s voice was shaking as she answered. ‘All the boys are out,’ she said, ‘and the girls … except one – Priscilla Morgan. No one’s seen her.’

      Oh, no. Not Priscilla. Lana’s heart clenched in fear.

      ‘The firemen barred my way,’ Maxine said thickly. ‘They refused to let me go in.’ She seemed to gather her wits as she shouted to someone. ‘Charlie! Please help with these children. I must make sure everyone’s out.’

      Maxine rushed off, Lana running behind. Moments later she saw the matron trip on a fallen branch. A moan of pain sliced through the air. Lana flew over the grass.

      ‘My ankle.’ Maxine screwed up her eyes in pain. ‘It’s not broken but it hurts like mad. Just a bad twist.’

      ‘Let me see.’ Another figure ran to the matron’s side.

      ‘Oh, Dolores, thank goodness it’s you. I’ve gone and sprained my ankle.’

      ‘See if you can get up,’ Dolores said. ‘Here, give me your hand.’

      ‘Priscilla—’ Maxine began.

      ‘Don’t worry, I’ll find her,’ Lana said, touching Maxine briefly on the shoulder before dashing over to the home.

      ‘You’re not allowed to go in there, Miss,’ one of the fireman shouted. ‘It’s not safe. You’re not properly equipped …’

      Without answering, Lana heaved the front door open and shot inside, her only thought for the young girl. The heat made her reel back, choking. Pulling her scarf over her nose, which immediately made her feel she was suffocating, she pushed further inside and shouted up the stairs. Flames were already crackling from the first-floor landing.

      ‘Is anyone there?’ A silence. ‘Priscilla! Are you there?’ She waited seconds, then bellowed, ‘PRISCILLA!’